


Terezi Pyrope Bends Karkat Vantas Over A Table (Sexily)

by gogollescent



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-10
Updated: 2011-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:47:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogollescent/pseuds/gogollescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a lemon, folks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terezi Pyrope Bends Karkat Vantas Over A Table (Sexily)

“What the fuck are you doing,” said Karkat, his voice crackly with doubt; he twisted in her grip, and she caught a panic-piquant whiff of his face, how it cut pale across the licorice memory of the back of his head. (To breath the world through the nostrils was to mix moment with moment and to see every side of a motion at once, a kind of olfactory cubism. Terezi would have loved Troll Picasso, had Troll Picasso not been culled at six sweeps for an unduly innovative approach to representative media.)

He didn’t try to push himself off the tabletop, though. Terezi smiled.

“Ravishing you, obviously!”

His sideways glare stank of grated lemonskin.

“You are not,” he said.

“Am too.”

He muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” said Terezi, lightly.

“I said, you haven’t even taken my fucking shirt off!”

There was a thoughtful pause. She could tell that the thoughtfulness was not entirely one-sided, because he was flushing, a faint wash of candysweetness seeping through his skin.

“Do you want me to take your shirt off?” she asked.

“Die in a tragic catastrophe, you sack of—”

She let go.

It wasn’t as easy as she would have thought— she hadn’t had him under her hands for a long time, and giving up the complicated warmth of his elbows was a wrench. But she let go, lifting her fingers cleanly away.

And Karkat… slumped, the nose-abrading tightness of his spine uncoiling like a noose. His face was flat against the table and the curve of his back had something in it of relief and regret. She could still smell the echo of his tensed shoulders, haloing the slack line of them in a haze of bitter fog, and she thought about how badly she wanted to dispel even that lingering haze.

“Do you want me to take your shirt off?” she repeated, softly.

Karkat looked at her. His eyes were wide and yellow, in the gloom: yellow with the kind of biting sourness that cleans out the mouth.


End file.
